


In Secret Places, We Don't Fight Fair

by Flames_and_Jade



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Be My (Peterick) Valentine 2018, Date gone wrong, Established Relationship, Everything is a mess, Fluff, M/M, No Angst, PeterickCreationsChallenge, True Love, Unkind Words, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff, cuteness, grumpy!Patrick, it starts out so well, romantic!Pete
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 22:45:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13691418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flames_and_Jade/pseuds/Flames_and_Jade
Summary: A Pete and Patrick Valentines Day...so of course, nothing goes as planned.





	In Secret Places, We Don't Fight Fair

**Author's Note:**

> Hey friends! So I'm sliding this in under the wire, but Happy Valentines Day! This is my least favorite holiday, hahah...but hey. Gotta give it a bit of Peterick. In my head this is set during late FUTCT into IOH era...but you can imagine it however you like :) Huge thanks to @shattered_mirrors_and_lace for helping me brainstorm this (and come up with mean things to say to Patrick, which broke both our hearts!) and to @snitchesandtalkers for inspiring me to write more grumpy!Patrick. Go read the rest of the amazing Be My (Peterick) Valentine submissions--they're amazing!!!!

  
  


“I fucking swear to God, Pete.” Patrick scuffed his shoe into the crack on the floor, digging at the crumbling concrete just a bit until it left a chalky white streak. He glared up at him from the hard metal bench as he mimed Pete’s overly-sugary tone. " _It’ll be fun, Patrick. Just you and me and all the romance you can handle.”_ He waved his hand around the room, “ _This_ is your idea of romantic?”

 

“I couldn't just let him say that, ‘Trick, you…”

 

“ _Oh no_.” He crossed his arms and lowered his brow even more, wondering if it would be physically possible to burn his boyfriend with his glare. “Don’t you _even_ try to pretend this was about defending my honor.”

 

Pete’s eyes were wide as he detached himself from where he had been slumped against the bars like he could slide through them if he wished hard enough. He slunk on shuffling feet until their knees just brushed--a picture of contrition and belligerence--before sinking to the ground “They were _wrong_ , Patrick, and you don’t deserve to hear sht like that. I won’t let anyone hurt you like that, you’re my... _my person._ I love you, and you’re fucking _perfect_ to me.” He reached out a bloody-knuckled hand to lace their fingers, and he could _feel_ himself folding, anger collapsing like flan in a cupboard as his mom used to say. He turned their hands and brushed grit gently from the wounds, biting his lip at the way Pete flinched but stayed still. Rolling the hem of his t-shirt, he looked for the cleanest part and dabbed at the flecks of blood on his wrist before shaking his head with a sigh. “ _Nobody_ talks to you like that.” Pete whispered on the exhale, ardent and low. Lifting his eyes from contemplating Pete’s knuckles, he saw the way he tilted his chin up like he was ready to argue his honor _again_ , with _him_.

 

Letting out a sigh with the last of his frustration, Patrick shook his head as he leaned back against the cinderblock wall and gave Pete a tiny, crooked smile. “Thanks, I guess.”

 

“Anytime, Trickydoll.” Pete scampered up on the bench next to him, oozing against him with a twinkle in his eye. “Wanna make out, since it’s kinda still V-day? Technically the date isn't over yet.”

 

“Only you would try that line in a fuckin’ jail cell at 4:30 in the morning, Wentz.”

 

_~Earlier That Evening~_

 

It all started so perfect...and that should have been his first clue that _something_ would go catastrophically wrong. There had been the text the day prior from Pete that hadn’t been a jumble of emojis and unintelligible shorthand. It had actually contained _punctuation_ , and the beginning letters of the sentences had actually been _capitalized._

 

_ <Hey, handsome. Be ready at 6pm tomorrow night, dress up just a little. I’m taking you on the romantic Valentine’s Evening you deserve.> _

 

Patrick had stared at it for a full ten seconds, mind flashing with all the horrible scenarios such a text could be the harbinger of--romantic skydiving, a romantic hot-air balloon ride, romantic matching tattoos, romantic concussions--anything was possible when you were talking about Pete.

So when Pete had showed up at his house at 6pm, on time, fully-clothed and bearing a _red rose_...Patrick had been justifiably terrified.

 

“Seriously, what the fuck. Valentine's Day is for girls who still wear their hair in pigtails, dude.” The words were out before he really even registered he was speaking...but his brain sped up to see the hurt flash in Pete’s eyes--the infinitesimal flicker of doubt--and he sighed as he swiped his hand over his face. Stepping out, he locked the door and took the rose, breaking off the long stem and tucking it into the band of his fedora. A smile flickered across Pete’s face--triumphant--and he moved forward, pushing Patrick against the battered wood of the door. His hands settled on Patrick’s hips and he leaned forward like invading his personal space was something to do for fun. It probably was, Patrick admitted to himself as Pete pressed their lips together...but he decided to let it go. They kissed for a long moment, before Pete pulled back with shining eyes and whispered _fucking gorgeous_ before reaching down to give his ass a squeeze. It made something warm blossom in his heart and he decided that maybe Valentine’s day with the world’s most ridiculously-romantic boyfriend wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

 

Dinner was delicious, sumptuous even, Patrick would be more than willing to admit, however after a tour full of pop tarts and Captain Crunch, anything other than frosted toaster pastries and  sugar-infused milk would be considered amazing. Pete had taken him to a trendy new Thai place that had opened recently and Patrick had _totally_ been wanting to try but kept forgetting. He got his curry spicy as possible and had loved every bite, despite probably turning cherry red. Then Pete had taken him to a jazz bar deep in Chicago’s industrial district--a place that he couldn’t believe he hadn’t heard of but _instantly_ loved.

 

They sat at the bar and sipped expensive liquor as they waited for the band to warm up and he felt something warm curl under his ribs and he was pretty sure it wasn’t just the whiskey. The first elegantly discordant notes of a saxophone floated across the dark space to them and he turned around on his bar stool to listen. The group--called The Smooth Sixlets--were surprisingly good, crooning out classics along with modern love songs that had him tapping his fingers on his thigh and his head spinning with rhythms. Pete leaned against him, shoulder warm and firm against him, and he sighed contentedly as they went to intermission.  “This is...pretty fucking awesome.” He smiled at Pete as he turned around and took a drink, trying to find a way to say thank you that didn’t sound like he was in middle school.

 

“Only the best for you, babe.” Pete took a sip of his rum and coke and winked. “You deserve it.”

 

He looked down at the bar, tracing where someone had scratched a heart into its surface and thought all kinds of mushy thoughts that he couldn’t believe he was actually thinking of _saying out loud_ to his boyfriend…

 

“Hey pretty boy.” Patrick looked up to see a someone tall and slender with artfully-styled purple hair twined around a stocky, lumberjack-esque man. They oozed next to Pete, leaning against the bar with that particular vibe of _come hither_ that he’d always thought Mikey Way seemed to exude so effortlessly. “Wanna come home with us? Nobody should be alone on Valentine’s Day.”

 

“Oh, sorry. I’m like...not single? I mean, props to all the single people who come out tonight but I’m here with my boyfriend.” Pete replied brightly as he twined his fingers with Patrick’s, shrugging off the advance and the compliment with equal ease that Patrick couldn’t help but envy. “But thanks, that’s a rad offer for someone.” He picked up his drink and took a sip with the nonchalance that accompanied the absolute faith that their relationship was rock solid. For a long moment Patrick felt his lips tuck up in smug pride at that as he stared at the two men, looking at each other as a silent conversation happened in the hubub.

 

“Wait, you’re kidding, right?” Purple hair gave Patrick a blatant once-over and then made a snorting sound. “That’s gotta be a joke, unless you’re into fucking the Pillsbury doughboy.”

 

The words felt like a punch in the gut, and he could see the way the tendons in Pete’s neck tightened even as his hand clenched around his fingers. But he shrugged with false nonchalance and maturity that Patrick couldn’t help but wonder where he’d been hiding all this time. “You love what you love. I couldn’t be with someone who had hair the color of a My Little Pony, so let’s just call it that we each have our own tastes and leave it at that, okay?”

 

“Someone who looks like you shouldn’t be stooping _that_ low. He probably just stays with you ‘cause he knows you’re way out of his league--probably doesn’t even like you.”

 

Pete was on his feet now, back muscles twitching with rage as he stood facing them with his feet squared off, ready for a fight. Realizing that was _probably_ what was going to happen, Patrick sighed and reached out for Pete’s arm to pull him back, to insist that they just take their drinks and go even as he felt like vomiting from their words.

 

But an instant before his fingers made contact with the muscles bunching in Pete’s arm, Purple hair made his final assessment with an incredulous shrug. “Besides, he looks like he can’t even keep it up--probably the size of a little smoky under all that. Let us show you a good time, huh? See you what you’re missing.”

 

“ _SHUT THE FUCK UP_!” Pete bellowed and Patrick’s hand closed on empty air as his boyfriend leaped forward in a blur of fury, onyx hair and clenched fists. He landed a blow on Purple Hair’s jaw, and Patrick was momentarily gratified with the way his head snapped back as he fell.

 

“ _Pete_ , stop it! You--” he jumped off the stool, trying to see where he had fallen in the throng of people, but was blocked by the asshole’s friend, who stepped in his way with a grin that spoke of bruised ribs and gleeful injury and Patrick sighed. Shrugging as he grabbed his tumbler, he knocked back the remainder of his whiskey and grimaced at the way it burned down his throat. It felt like fire and liquid disdain as he took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, but it was tinged with starlight and the glee of bad decisions that you just _had_ to make.

 

“Don’t even try it, motherfucker.”

 

“What are you gonna do about it, doughboy?” Lumberjack grinned at him, showing a mouth lined with silver and Patrick rolled his neck a bit, bending his knees to lower his center of gravity. People _always_ underestimated him because he was _short._

 

 _They_ were usually wrong.

 

 

~ _The Day After Valentine's Day_ ~

 

The sky was that particular shade of blue-grey that heralded a sun working its way skyward as they pulled up to Patrick’s apartment. They had been let off with nothing but a warning--the officer telling them the other two weren’t pressing charges, and had been in possession of weed anyways--and he decided that was as close to a life of crime as he ever wanted to get. The car’s other occupant let out a mournful sigh and he knew a speech filled with _I’m sorry_ and _This wasn’t what I planned_ was imminent and that was _not_ what he wanted to hear on the tattered remainders of what should have been a perfect night.

 

“Don’t say anything and just come inside.”

 

With that, he climbed from the car--mind flashing back to what the assholes had said and he wondered for the briefest of moments if Pete would follow. But that was washed away as he instead fought down an overabundant eye roll at Pete nearly jumping on him as he walked up the steps, chattering away in excitement.

 

“I knew you wouldn’t hate me forever, you’re the fuckin’ best Trickydoll, I swear you--”

 

“ _Don’t_ call me _Trickydoll_ .” He grumbled as he pushed Pete off so he could get the door open, manhandling him inside and shutting the door. Warm hands wrapped around his waist, and he turned to see Pete staring at him with wide eyes ringed with perfectly smudged eyeliner. He thought distantly that it was unfair that someone could spend six hours in jail and _still_ look like that, but he pushed that away as he pushed Pete against the door. It gave the evening symmetry as he echoed Pete’s start to the night that had unsurprisingly turned into an unmitigated disaster. But, as he reflected in an fleeting moment of sappiness, they ended up together and that’s all that mattered. He pressed a deep, searching kiss against Pete’s mouth, humming happily when his lips parted and his tongue brushed sweetly against his own. “You taste like jail.” He murmured as he pulled him away and towards the bedroom, Pete’s sharp-edged guffaw echoing through the apartment as he followed.

 

“Yeah? ‘Cause you’re such an expert on jail now? A real bad boy, you should probably get some knuckle tatts to reinforce that image.”

 

“Shut up.” Patrick snarked back with a grin, pushing him onto the bed and climbing on top of him, the blood already flowing away from his brain leaving no resources for witty comebacks. Pete grinned as he pulled his own shirt off and then wrestled Patrick’s from his shoulders, fingers dancing down to pop the button on his jeans. Patrick bit at his neck, pressing a line of teasing kisses to his collarbone as his own hands fumbled at Pete’s ridiculously-studded belt. He worked it free and pulled them down--

 

“ _What the fuck?!”_ He felt shock skitter down his spine as his fingers brushed against silk and lace as he pulled down Pete’s habitually-ridiculous girl jeans. With a renewed sense of purpose, he yanked them down to his knees, sitting back to just _look_. “You seriously had _panties_ on in that jail cell _the entire time?!_ ”

 

Pete’s grin was, unsurprisingly, equal parts smugness and excitement. “Duh! I mean it’s _Valentine’s Day_ and they were _for you_ , but it was actually kinda lucky! They could have come in handy if they strip-searched me!” Wondering what sins or great deeds he had committed in a past life to warrant _Pete Wentz_ , Patrick shook his head in disdain even as he realized he couldn’t quite bring himself to look away. Fire-red silk was stretched in lacy perfection over Pete’s hips, framing his rapidly-hardening cock in elegant detail. He squinted a bit and moved closer before letting out a snort-- _of course_ they had little shiny hearts printed all over them. The sight was beyond tempting as he gave a mental shrug and moved down to press his lips to the covered length of Pete’s cock, relishing his gasped groan. “Fuck--” Pete mumbled, hips arching off the bed as he sought more friction, more heat, _more_ and Patrick grinned, only too happy to oblige.

 

“So pretty.” He murmured, nose brushing up the delicate shaft to soothe at the sensitive head and relished the way his back arched upwards. He looked up to see Pete gazing at him with undisguised affection, and it made something warm and soft unfurl in his chest.

 

“Hey.” Pete whispered, hand coming down to brush feather-soft across his cheek and he scrambled up until his knees were bumping against Patrick’s. They were mirror images--knee to knee, nose to nose, two sides of an arch. His eyes were wide and Patrick swore he could see everything in his eyes--love and value and devotion. “You--you know you’re perfect, right?” He took Patrick’s hand, squeezing sure and solid. “What they said, you can’t--just _no_. Never.”

 

The venomous words flickered through Patrick’s mind--sneered grins and flashing fists--and he pushed them away, deciding to believe what was right in front of him. He nodded with a smile and Pete leaned forward, pressing a soft, loving kiss to his lips and he felt things echo through him that felt like _forever_.

 

Lips parted and tongues met, fingers were slicked and crooked, moans floated through the air like sprites on the breeze as backs arched and hips thrust. Pete shuddered around him and Patrick gasped out words that only seemed to string themselves together in these moments. These times of perfect happiness, of two bodies flying together along slipstreams of ecstasy, buffering each other up higher and higher until they plummeted earthbound together in a blaze of light. Just before he fell apart, just as he felt like he’d surely explode with it, Pete’s eyes snapped open--liquid gold just visible around the midnight black of his pupils--and pulled him down, murmuring a gasped _I love you_ against his lips as he came.

 

Wrapped in sweaty sheets and shining skin, they cooled like a comet in its crater. Their bodies pulsed and flashed with the last throes of perfect abandon as they wrapped around each other, crystallizing into something precious, something that was meant just for them. Pete’s fingers flitted along the shell of his ear in a gentle caress as Patrick kissed his forehead with a small smile.

 

“Goddamn.” Pete gasped out later as he burrowed into Patrick’s side after they had showered and slipped into worn boxers and stretched-out t-shirts. His hands roaming flushed skin and his nose poking into his windpipe, but Patrick couldn’t quite seem to care. “I’m gonna have to work _real_ fucking hard to top this next year.”

 

“ _Please don’t_.” He couldn’t help but snort as his mind supplied a thousand ways Pete could conceivably do that, and most of them ended with either a prison record or fleeing the country. “I don’t want to have to try to figure out how to dispose of a dead body.”

 

“Spoilsport.”

  


**Author's Note:**

> Title from Infinity On High's "Take Over, the Break's Over"


End file.
